


Lacunas (Or, How Lucas Wahl Found His Mojo and Luna Lovegood Found Her Shoes)

by Syrena_of_the_lake



Series: Forever and Always [2]
Category: Forever (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Matchmaking, Wrackspurts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:17:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/pseuds/Syrena_of_the_lake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucas isn't sure he believes in soulmates. Luna isn't sure she believes in shoes. Henry indulges in his once-a-century matchmaking mania, and Minerva McGonagall meets her grandnephew. </p><p>A sequel to my 2015 Forever Crossover Ficathon story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Luna Lovegood's socks are yellow.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [You're a Wizard, Henry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5207297) by [Syrena_of_the_lake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/pseuds/Syrena_of_the_lake). 



> This mad, mad crossover is just too much fun. I'm like a little kid who doesn't want to put her toys away.

**Lacuna** , n. An empty space or a missing part; a gap.  
**Mojo** , n. A magical power, charm or spell that causes one to excel or have good luck. See also: witchcraft, wizardry.

* * *

 

 _The day that changed my life_ , wrote Lucas, _dawned like any other_.

Well, that was boring.

 _Twas an outwardly boring day that transformed my life_.

Pretentious _and_ uninformative. He was reaching new literary lows, here.

_I first met Luna Lovegood on a Thursday. The City Morgue was brighter from the moment she walked in, wearing yellow socks and no shoes._

Luna peered over his shoulder. "I've always liked Thursdays," she commented.

Startled, Lucas flailed and knocked a glass of orange juice off the desk. Fortunately, it missed his manuscript. Unfortunately, it hit the floor and shattered.

"Evanesco," said Luna, and the mess disappeared.

Lucas shook his head in awe. He would never get tired of watching Luna do magic. He could say that everything she did was like magic to him – but he'd never be brave enough to put that down on paper for all the world to see.

"You've changed my life, too," Luna added. She didn't even whisper. In some ways, Lucas thought she was the bravest person he'd ever met. Sure, he worked with cops who were the bravest of the brave, but even kick-ass Jo would balk at sharing her feelings so freely, without a hint of embarrassment.

Lucas cleared his throat. "That's why I wanted to write about it. So I don't forget." He could feel his cheeks heating up, all the little blood vessels doing their best to proclaim his awkwardness to the world.

"You won't forget." Luna's eyes were like their own gravitational force. He couldn't look away. "I promise. Have you ever heard of a Pensieve?" He shook his head. "Let me show you." She tugged on his hand, and Lucas rose to follow her.

He would follow her anywhere.

* * *

 

_6 months earlier_

"Hey, Henry! Welcome back, buddy!" Lucas tried not to be over-enthusiastic, he really did. But he couldn't help grinning at his boss. It wasn't that Dr. Washington wasn't a good M.E. The man just didn't know the meaning of fun.

Granted, Henry didn't know the meaning of emoji or why the X-Files relaunch was either the best thing ever or the end of life as Lucas knew it, but the Doc knew how to have fun. And you could tell he cared – like, actually _cared_ – about his job and the people around him, even the dead ones. Especially  them.

Lucas tried to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but he couldn't see Dr. Washington chasing justice for someone who'd been dead for 30 years and had no one left to mourn them. Or taking a bullet for Jo. Or climbing a bridge to get at crucial evidence… okay, that last one was kind of insane, but that was just Henry. He cared more about the people around him than he did for his own safety.

As far as Lucas could tell, Dr. Washington had more passion for his golf handicap than he did for his work. Okay, maybe that was a mean thing to say, and it was probably an exaggeration, but–

"Lucas?" Henry had a puzzled smile on his face. "I asked if you were available to join us for lunch on Saturday. Abraham has plans for an 'American Re-Acclimatization' meal that I'd rather not suffer through alone."

"Wow, your accent got stronger while you were across the Pond," blurted Lucas.

Henry raised an eyebrow. "Is that a yes?"

Lucas's ears finally caught up with his brain. "Yeah! That'd be awesome!" He heard the exclamation points, winced, and tried to cover it up. "I'd like that," he said sincerely.

Henry patted him on the shoulder. "Excellent. We'll see you at noon." He shrugged off his overcoat and carefully draped his scarf on the coat rack. (Teal threaded with brown; Lucas made a note of the combination as something to try in his own wardrobe.) "Oh and incidentally, there will be another guest."

"Is Jo coming?"

Henry cleared his throat. "Ah, no. I'm taking Jo out for dinner that evening." Henry pointedly ignored Lucas's fist pump. "I have a new research assistant who will be boarding with us at the antique shop. I think you two will get on quite well together." There was a suspicious twinkle in Henry's eye.

Lucas let it go. "Sounds great," he said breezily. No sense in ruining the Doc's fun, was there?

The phone rang and Henry shook his head. "Never a moment's peace! If it's for me, Lucas, I'll take it in my office."

Lucas nodded. "Office of Chief Medical Examiner," he rattled off. "How can I– Yes, sir. He's in. Please hold." He rolled his eyes at Henry and transferred the call. Henry disappeared into his office and Lucas tipped his chair back with a sigh. Back to ye olde routine.

Lucas wished the morgue had caller ID. Just once, he'd like to answer the phone "OCME, bring out your dead!" He wished he knew someone with an irreverent sense of humor who would actually get the joke. Maybe Jo…? Nah, she'd want to share it with Henry. Maybe Lucas could call himself on his cell – just so he could hear himself say it…

It would be just his luck for Dr. Washington to pick up the line, though.

"Bring out your dead," he hummed under his breath.

"I think they're already here," said a quiet, lilting voice from behind him.

Lucas spun around violently and stood, propelling his empty chair across the room. It careened into a refrigerator drawer with a clang. He winced.

"You have excellent aim," said the voice. It belonged to a young woman. Pretty, mid-twenties, long blonde hair, pale, protuberant eyes (but not symptomatic of proptosis, he noted), generally fit, good posture, standing…  very close, now. In her stocking feet (yellow socks – no shoes). Wait, no shoes?

Lucas cleared his throat. "Uh, can I help you?"

She stuck her hand out. "I'm Luna. I'm looking for Henry."

No surprise there. The British accent was a dead giveaway. "I'm not Henry," Lucas apologized.

"I know." She smiled at him. Her expression was open and friendly, but there was something distant about her, as if her mind was occupied juggling quadratic equations in the background.

Before Lucas could come up with a suitable reply, the door to Henry's office opened. "Luna!" he exclaimed. "You shouldn't be here." Henry rushed forward to take her arm, but she shook her head at him.

"It's all right. I've seen dead people before," she replied with a sad little sigh. Then she looked curiously at Lucas. "Where were you taking them?"

"Taking…?"

"You said, 'Bring out your–'"

Lucas jumped in before she could finish the quote. "Nowhere, nothing, I was just talking to myself!"

She nodded. Her earrings jingled. They looked like… beets? "I talk to myself as well," said Luna. "Sometimes I give myself very good advice, but I must say there are times I'm better off not listening to myself. Do you ever have that problem?"

Stumped, Lucas looked at Henry, hoping for some kind of hint. His boss was grinning – no help there. "My own advice is highly suspect. I usually ask myself what Henry would do." He managed a weak laugh, hoping nobody would be offended.

Henry looked a little stunned, though Lucas couldn't tell whether he was flattered or appalled. Luna merely nodded again, the beets doing a little jig under her ears. "Yes, Henry's advice is often quite helpful. You have to be careful, though, as he does have occasional problems with wrackspurts."

Lucas blinked. "What's a wrackspurt?"

"They're invisible creatures that–"

Henry cleared his throat.

"–live in your brain and–"

Henry cleared his throat again, loudly.

"–and make your thinking all fuzzy–"

Henry made a sound like a tiger choking on a hairball.

Luna looked mildly alarmed and glanced around the room. " Did you swallow one? They normally go for the ears, but–"

" _Ahem_." Henry took Luna gently by the arm, snagging his coat and scarf with the other hand. "Luna, I don't think this is the time or the place to be discussing your… _pet peeves_ …" he trailed off meaningfully.

Luna shrugged. "All right. I just thought he should know. If he's working around you all the time, it could be an occupational hazard. Unless…" she brightened. "Is Lucas the friend you were telling me about? The one with extra wrackspurts?"

Henry looked apologetically at Lucas. _Sorry_ , he mouthed.

Lucas just shook his head, hard pressed not to smile. _He told her I'm his friend? Henry and I are friends!_ He'd always thought so, of course, but having Henry confirm it was – well, there was no other word for it – it was just _dead cool_.

Pun absolutely intended.

* * *

As Saturday approached, Lucas found himself getting exponentially more nervous with each passing hour. He couldn't stop thinking about Luna. Luna and her yellow socks. Luna-how-did-he-still-not-know-her-last-name. He wanted to ask her how she met Henry. What root vegetable her earrings were supposed to be. How she could bear walking on the rough (and frankly disgusting) New York City pavement without shoes. If yellow was her favorite color.

It was rapidly becoming his.

In short, he was somewhat distracted. When he stepped on his fifth pipette and the lab echoed with crunching glass and embarrassment, Henry steered him out the door and down the hallway.

Glumly, Lucas waited for the reprimand.

Instead, Henry handed him a steaming cup of tea. Lucas blinked. They were in the break room – woah. How did he miss that memo? Normally he would have smelled the heady combination of sugary treats and stale coffee a whole stairwell away.

"She won't bite, Lucas," Henry said gently.

Lucas stared down into his tea. "Huh?"

"Luna. She won't bite. And though I haven't known her long, there is one thing I can promise you." His voice turned serious – earnest, even. "She won't laugh at you."

Lucas swallowed hard. The tea scalded his throat. Sometimes Henry was too damn perceptive.

"Luna's sense of humor is wonderful, albeit a bit odd. Witty, wry, with a sublime sense of the absurd. She may seem… how do I put this? … a bit out of touch," he said delicately, "but in fact she notices more about most people than I do."

Lucas looked at Henry in disbelief. This was supposed to put him at ease? _Note to self: Henry sucks at pep talks._

Henry patted his shoulder. "What I mean is that I think you will find you understand one another, Lucas. And you need not fear making social missteps – not with her. Just relax." He gave a little laugh. "And if you can't, then simply blame it on the wrackspurts."

"Are they even real?" asked Lucas hesitantly, relieved to find his voice came out steady.

Henry grinned. "No idea. The beautiful thing is – to Luna, it doesn't matter. She doesn't need proof in order to believe in something." Henry caught and held Lucas's gaze. "Do you understand?"

"I think so?" It came out as a question.

"Do you feel better?"

He did, actually, but his mouth motored on to the next topic before he could adequately phrase his thanks. "I'm sorry about the pipettes. I'll replace them–"

Henry waved him off. "Nonsense. That's hardly necessary. Besides, I remember a first date I had once… I was so nervous that I broke a kerosene lamp and set a whole barn on fire."

"A _barn_?" Lucas tried and failed to imagine Henry in any setting that included a barn.

"Mm," Henry hummed. "We were in the hayloft at the time – and, well, suffice it to say her father was _not_ well pleased with me. He chased me all the way to the edge of his property, which was positively sprawling…" He checked himself and stopped short. "Ahem. What I mean to say, Lucas, is that regardless of how lunch unfolds on Saturday–"

"No one's going to chase me with a pitchfork?"

Henry laughed. "Quite." He clapped Lucas on the shoulder. "What do you say? Shall we get back to work?"

Lucas nodded. "Yeah. And… thanks, Henry."

"Don't mention it. Especially not to Abraham! He doesn't know that particular anecdote, and I'd prefer not to enlighten him."

"I'll never tell a soul," promised Lucas. "Cross my heart and hope to die, but only if you do the autopsy." He grinned weakly.

Henry opened his mouth, closed it and shook his head. "Peas in a pod," he muttered. Lucas blushed and pretended not to hear.

Oddly enough, the next time he saw Luna, she was wearing peapod earrings.

* * *

 


	2. One, two, buckle my shoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Luna's turn to narrate, and she takes much the same approach to storytelling as she did to Quidditch commentary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is rapidly taking on a life of its own.

"I've never been to this part of the castle. At least not while awake. I sleep walk, you see. That's why I wear shoes to bed."

\- Luna Lovegood, _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_

 

"You should write too, Luna." Lucas proffered a pen. "It's _our_ story, after all."

Luna hummed doubtfully. "I think I might be an unreliable narrator."

Lucas grinned. "Aren't we all!" He gave a little laugh. With an older man, she might have said he _chuckled_ , but Luna didn't think the verb applied to young men. (Henry rarely chuckled, even though he was very old, but Luna attributed that to stress rather than age.) "Please?"

When he tilted his head that way, Lucas was really quite irresistible. Luna didn't think he knew it; that was one of the things she found so attractive about him.

That and his elbows. Lucas had very nice elbows. Well articulated, not too sharp – and, she had found out recently, ticklish.

Luna took the pen and tucked it behind her ear. "Where did you leave off?"

"Our first dinner," said Lucas.

Luna summoned a roll of parchment and frowned at it. Ballpoint pens always caught and skidded on parchment. She had determined it was a combination of technique, having been raised to write with a quill, and material incompatibility.

Lucas nudged a notebook in front of her. "I used a computer," he said, "but I got this for you. I figured you might prefer longhand."

Lucas was very thoughtful. It was one of the things she loved about him. There were fifty-four Main Reasons (including the elbows). She had a list. Luna liked making lists, connecting one item to the next down the pathway of her thoughts and then comparing the first and last items to see how different they were. She once made a list starting with porridge and ending with zebras by way of a children's song and the quadruped digestive tract.

If you took enough steps, you could connect anything.

Dimly, Luna heard Lucas clacking away at his keyboard. She fingered the pen and the smooth, unblemished page in front of her. She began to write, and the ballpoint tip skated neatly across the clean white paper.

* * *

_5 months and 28 days earlier_

Most people would have qualified that first dinner as an unmitigated disaster, but Luna thought it went rather well. As Henry had told Lucas, Luna was not "most people."

* * *

"Wait," broke in Lucas, looking over her shoulder. "Aren't you switching points of view?"

Luna considered the paper. "It might be third person omniscient, but I haven't decided yet. I like to look at things from different points of view. Don't you?"

Lucas rubbed his chin. She thought he might have grown a beard to be like Henry. It tickled, but she didn't mind. "You're right," he said. "You should write how you want to – it's your part of the story, after all."

" _Our_ story." Luna didn't always like possessives, but this one felt nice.

Lucas gave her free hand a squeeze. "Yes. Our story."

* * *

_5 months and 28 days earlier_

An objective observer would have qualified that first dinner as an unmitigated disaster. However, Luna was an active participant, not an observer. Moreover, as she had a decided interest in the outcome, she could hardly be considered objective.

Still, even she had to admit things could have gone a _little_ better. On the other hand, once the Homicide detectives showed up, it could hardly have gone much worse.

As a rule, Luna didn't believe in omens. If she had, then she never would have made friends with the thestrals, and her fourth year might have turned out rather differently.

But that morning, when the third shoelace snapped and the replacement buckle she had Transfigured for her shoe fell through a crack in the floor, Luna was forced to stop and consider it. Either there was a colony of miniature Nifflers living under Henry's floorboards or the world of footwear was trying to tell her something along the lines of T.S. Eliot – _things fall apart, the center cannot hold, mere anarchy_ , etc.

Luna had always had a complicated relationship with shoes. She had quite enjoyed running around barefoot as a child, except when she was in her mother's laboratory, where steel-toed dragonhide boots were required within a two-meter radius of the cauldron. During her early years at Hogwarts, she had ample opportunity to rediscover this love of discalced ambulation, thanks to her fellow Ravenclaws' penchant for pranks. In subsequent years, however, her dorm-mates left her more or less alone as they became more embroiled in their studies. It also helped that Luna had taken to wearing shoes to bed. Her sleepwalking phase did not last long, but the shoes had undoubtedly protected her from a great many stubbed toes during her nocturnal exploration of Hogwarts' hidden places.

That particular morning, however, Luna was less interested in soles and more interested in making a favorable impression. Rather, in rectifying the rather unfavorable impression she was afraid she had made during Thursday's visit to the morgue.

The moment she had first seen Lucas Wahl, she had _noticed_ him. She had noticed that he was tall, unusually perceptive, somewhat uncertain of his own limbs, and rather in awe of Henry. She noticed that he seemed kind. And she had noticed him staring at her feet. Her shoeless, yellow-stockinged feet.

Luna knew she was odd. She had just never particularly cared before.

"What do you think, Methuselah?" she asked the empty room.

Methuselah had been her imaginary friend since childhood. Since before she had any real ones. Now she could write a letter to Neville or Harry or Ginevra or Hermione or Ronald or the Gray Lady (although she wasn't certain, come to think of it, whether owls could find ghosts to deliver any letters, and a ghost would surely need to dictate a return letter to a third party, which quite ruled out any confidentiality). But letters took time, and Luna had only three hours and twenty-seven minutes before she would see Lucas again. And this time, she was determined to wear shoes.

However, her shoes seemed equally determined not to be worn.

Methuselah did not answer, which was disappointing but not unexpected. If even her own subconscious was muddled, she could hardly expect a manifestation thereof to be any less so.

Still, it was rather vexing. But there was no way around it: she would simply have to wear her slippers.

She hoped they wouldn't be too hungry.

* * *

"You were nervous?" Lucas asked.

"Terribly. Weren't you?"

Lucas laughed ruefully. "I tied my shoelaces in a knot."

"Isn't that what you're supposed to do?"

"I tied the two shoes together," he elaborated. "Had to cut the laces with a knife, and then I didn't have any extra laces."

"Oh! Is that why you were wearing snow boots in May?"

Lucas blushed.  

Luna patted his knee. "I thought it was very sweet of you, to wear mismatched footwear so I wouldn't feel out of place."

"But I – I didn't even know  yet…" Lucas tilted his head in thought. "Did I?"

"I think we were putting ourselves in each other's shoes." Luna wiggled her toes. "Yours are quite large."

Lucas grinned at her. "Yours _rock_."

From the corner of the room, Luna's lion-headed slippers roared in agreement.

* * *

When Abe knocked, it was a welcome interruption to the Great Earring Debate, which had followed immediately upon the heels of the Great Sock Debate. Internal debates, both of them, and Luna was not entirely happy with the protocol (or the results: beige was sandwiched between taupe and mauve on her list of least favorite colors).

"Am I interrupting?" Abe asked.

"Only my train of thought, but that happens all the time."

Abe's gaze roved over the jumble of vegetable earrings on  the dresser, and strayed momentarily to the pile of colored socks at the foot of the bed. "Having trouble deciding what to wear?"

"Not usually. Today seems to be an exception."

Abe chuckled in the way that only old men do (except for Henry, whose vocal chords were still decidedly youthful). "If you want advice from an old man…?" He glanced at her, and she nodded enthusiastically. "… then you should ask Henry. But if you want advice from a somewhat younger but still old-enough-to-know-better man, then I'll say this." He cleared his throat. "If he doesn't like you as you are, then it's not meant to be."

Luna frowned in thought. "Earrings and shoes won't really make a difference in the way Lucas sees me, will they?"

"Nope. At least, not if he's the kind of guy I think he is. You two… don't take this the wrong way, but you're kind of like my folks." Abe rubbed the back of his neck. "My mom, she accepted Henry just the way  he is. Immortal baggage and all. And it worked."

Luna's heart sank. "But she left," she pointed out in a small voice.

Abe sighed and perched on Luna's bed. It creaked under his weight. "I think that was more about not accepting _herself_ , in the end. She aged, Henry didn't. She accepted that about him, but… well, now that I'm getting a bit long in the tooth myself, I think I get it. A little. It's harder to face your own mortality than someone else's immortality."

He slapped his knees and stood. "But enough about that. Are you coming down or what? I've got cheesy fries to prepare."

"Is that what my friend Ronald calls _pub grub_?"

"Yep. Henry'll hate it, but you kids eat up. I've got plenty of snobby stuff for him – he just likes to have something to complain about. You know geezers."

Luna giggled.

After Abe left, shutting the door behind him, she turned to the empty space in the middle of the room. "He even sounds like you, Methuselah," she said happily.

And so in the end, Luna decided not to believe in omens.

She also decided not to believe in shoes.

Then she peeled off her socks and slid her feet into the plush comfort of her slippers. (They purred.) She chose a pair of peapod earrings, because the sprightly green color always made her feel jolly. And she tripped lightly down the stairs, her slippers roaring mightily at every step.

"You give excellent advice for a young man who's old enough to know better," Luna whispered to Abe as she passed him in the kitchen. "May I have a cheesy chip?"

* * *

"I'm going to switch points of view now," declared Luna.

"Oh, do you want me to take over?"

"No, I'm going to tell the story from Abraham's point of view. He and Henry had an important conversation. It's quite pertinent." She peered at Lucas in concern. "Unless you mind?"

"No, no! Of course I don't mind. Henry and Abe are like… well, they're like family, aren't they? And they brought us together. Of course they should be part of the story."

At that moment, Luna added a fifty-fifth item to her list of Reasons She Loved Lucas Wahl.

When she reached triple digits, she planned to subdivide them by category.

* * *

Lunch started off well. Lucas arrived wearing snow boots, of all things. Luna's smile lit up the room. Abe stifled a laugh and told the kid he had an extra pair of slippers if he wanted to be more comfortable.

Just then, Luna's slippers threw their tawny heads back and roared.

" _Cool_ ," enthused Lucas. "Are those like the Chewbacca slippers that go _Roooarrgh ur roo_? That means _I have a bad feeling about this_ in Wookieespeak. But how do you get the heads to move? Animatronics? Where did you get them?"

"I made them," said Luna.

Henry made a move to intervene, but Abe hauled him off into the kitchen. "Henry, relax. You're not the only one who knows how to keep a secret. She's been a witch her whole life. She knows what she can and can't say about her world."

"Yes, but Abraham – you must admit that she is not the most… subtle."

From the living room came twin growls as Lucas modulated his Wookiee imitation to match the lion slippers' roaring.

"Neither is Lucas," Abe said dryly. "I think they'll be fine."

Henry laughed at himself. "You're right, of course. They look very well together, don't they?"

Abe peered at his father suspiciously. "Oh no. No you don't."

"What?" Henry spread his arms wide in a too-practiced gesture of innocence.

"No matchmaking, Henry."

"Whatever are you talking about, Abraham? I've simply gathered a couple friends for lunch. Which was _your_ idea, as I recall."

"It's like you're pairing them up two by two for the Ark," Abe reproached him.

"I just want to see two people I care about happy together."

Abe raised his eyebrows. "Like I want to see you and Jo together," he said, his voice smug.

"Yes, well, we're working on that," Henry huffed. "And the less you interfere, the faster things will come along."

Abe cleared his throat pointedly. Henry had the grace to blush.

"I do see your point. Still, you must admit they look well together: as much as Lucas likes to 'let his freak flag fly,' I think he's finally met his match in Luna."

"All right, fine," conceded Abe. "You introduced them, you gave them the first push. Great. You can be done now. The rest is up to them, yeah?"

Henry smiled innocently. "Of course, Abraham. That was my plan all along."

"Uh-huh." Abe turned back to the stove to give the gravy a desultory stir. "You can leave the planning and plotting in the kitchen and start taking out the plates."

"Very well, Abe, I – what in the name of God's green earth is that?"

"Cheesy fries, Henry. Try one." Abe smirked. "Pretty sure it won't kill you."

* * *

"How do you know all of this?" asked Lucas in awe.

Luna pulled a long, peachy-colored string out of her pocket. "It's called an Extendable Ear. Ronald's twin brothers invented them. One died during the war. One of the twins, that is, not one of the ears. Although the surviving twin only has one ear now, which is a rather odd coincidence, don't you think?"

* * *

They made a significant dent in the would-be turkey leftovers, and Abe was just starting to cut the pie when all hell broke loose.

It started when the doorbell rang and Luna volunteered to answer it. She returned after a moment, saying, "There's a man at the door whose name is one of the lines from my favorite poem."

"Which is…?" prompted Henry.

"It's called _Fleas_." Luna cleared her throat before reciting, "Adam… had 'em." She dipped down in a quick curtsy. Lucas applauded.

Henry and Abe paled in unison. "Did you say _Adam_?"

"Had 'em, yes," repeated Luna, tilting her head curiously. "Why, is something wrong?"

A voice from the doorway cut off any reply either Morgan man might have made.

"Hello, Henry." **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... please don't hurt me.
> 
> More to come, folks!


	3. Double, double, toil and trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We pick up right where Ch. 2 left off: dinner with the Morgans, Lucas and Luna's first date (sort of), and Adam's untimely interruption.

_Double, double, toil and trouble;_  
_Something wicked this way comes!_

\- Sung by the Frog Choir at Hogwarts in _The Prisoner of Azkaban_ film   
(Music by John Williams, lyrics based on Shakespeare's  _Macbeth_ )

 

"Hello, Henry."

Luna tightened her grip on her wand. She had known who Adam must be the moment he presented himself on Henry's doorstep, his hair still wet and smelling like the river. Her mind had been whirling ever since, her thoughts traveling down spiraled and interlaced pathways as if trying to unravel a spider web.

The more intensely she concentrated, the less she responded to outside stimuli. Even as she was weighing whether it would be better to Obliviate Adam or simply incapacitate him, he brushed her aside as if she were a curtain and proceeded to disregard her utterly. Clearly, her air of distraction had led Adam to underestimate her.

It came in handy that way sometimes.

There was a reason the Sorting Hat had told Luna she could have been in Slytherin. Of course, it had said the same about all the houses; "an unusually balanced mind, if a bit unhinged," it had dubbed her with a clothy chuckle. In the end, Luna had politely asked it to put her wherever she would be most useful, and she duly became a Ravenclaw. Admittedly, Luna hadn't fully understood the wisdom of its choice until the Battle of Hogwarts during her sixth year. Nor did she yet understand how the Sorting Hat had known so far in advance that Harry would need her to help him find the Lost Diadem and destroy another Horcrux. Regardless of the behind-the-brim machinations, there was little doubt that the Hat had a brilliant mind. Or minds, as the case may be.

The Sorting Hat. Now that was an interesting thought. What would it make of Henry? Luna filed that question away for a less hazardous moment.

Adam was talking. She supposed that, for someone who had been imprisoned within his own mind for the past few months, soliloquies might have become something of a habit.

"I'm really quite impressed, Henry," Adam was saying. "That plan of yours was brilliantly premeditated. I would have been proud to have come up with it myself."

The horrified, sickened look of realization on Henry's face took Luna's breath away. In her nightmares, it was the same look her father wore after betraying Harry Potter in the vain hope of saving _her_.

With effort, Luna forced her attention back to the present moment. It was time for her to act.

Her options, however, remained unsettlingly few. Killing Adam was out of the question; it would merely postpone the inevitable. Besides, if after two thousand years he had yet to discover the existence of magic, Luna preferred not to enlighten him just yet. She could Stun him, although it wouldn't last long. Memory modification? Luna tilted her head, considering it. If she Obliviated Adam, there was no telling whether he would retain his memories upon his next death and reawakening. (She should really pursue that line of inquiry with Henry. Perhaps a weekend in the country was called for… somewhere near a nice, secluded lake.)

She could always Transfigure Adam into something harmless. But if she Transfigured him into an animal, what would happen if that animal were to die? On the other hand, if she turned Adam into an inanimate object, would that be considered _death_ by whatever strange rules governed his immortal existence? Did he require brain activity, or merely a heartbeat?

Luna sighed in vexation. She was beginning to appreciate Hermione's loathing of decisions based on incomplete information.

And there was one more complication: regardless of which option she chose, any action on her part would mean doing magic in front of Lucas.

Of course, she could always Obliviate him, too, but… Her heart rebelled at the very thought. Lucas would never trust her again. Or, rather, he _would_ , never knowing that he _shouldn't_.

Meanwhile, Lucas was still in his chair, gawking at Adam and Henry in turn with the light of comprehension in his eyes. Well, that could be dealt with later.

Luna surreptitiously drew her wand and cast a silent spell at Lucas. He slumped forward and his head hit the table. Adam and Henry both whirled, looking for the source of the threat. Their gazes locked on her – Henry's stunned, Adam's suspicious – and Luna concentrated on the ceiling. If she seemed oblivious enough, she hoped Adam would dismiss her again.

"What did you do?" the immortal demanded.

Resigned, Luna turned to him. But before she could speak, Abe stepped in front of her. "He's narcoleptic," Abe said apologetically. "Happens all the time, doesn't it, Henry?"

"It's quite the hindrance at work, yes," answered Henry dryly after a brief pause.

It was fascinating to watch father and son at work together, playing off each other and spinning lies into a plausible story.

As a matter of fact, Henry seemed to enjoy the game a little too much. "It's not so bad at crime scenes in the open air, but inside closed spaces, well… I remember a case of disembowelment that was particularly unfortunate–"

"Enough!" Adam's raspy voice cut through the air like the sword Neville had wielded at the Battle of Hogwarts. If all else failed, thought Luna, _that_ might be a weapon that could kill even an immortal.

Not that she had any intention of telling Henry as much. At any rate, not until he was a little less eager to permanently end his existence.

"Enough," Adam repeated. "You've had your vengeance, Henry. And it was well played. But the victory is mine."

Luna wondered if Adam had any idea how melodramatic he sounded. After several months of complete solitude in which to plan, he might have scripted his monologue more creatively.

Abe's fists clenched helplessly. He still partially blocked her view of Henry, but Luna could see Lucas slumbering peacefully away, his cheek in a pile of mashed potatoes.

"What do you want from me?" whispered Henry.

Adam smiled.

And in that moment, Luna recognized him. He looked like Voldemort. The eyes was different, as was the mouth, and Adam actually _had_ a nose – but for a moment her vision wavered, and she saw the visage that haunted the dreams of two generations back in Britain.

 _This is what happens when a man forfeits his humanity_ , she thought.

"I want you to stay on this path, Henry," Adam was saying. "You're doing so well. In a few hundred years, you might even be decent company."

"I'd rather launch myself into outer space," said Henry through gritted teeth, "and spend eternity hurtling through the galaxy, dying and freezing in the tail of a comet."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "You've thought this through," he commented, clearly amused. "But I'm afraid you'll be a little too busy to apply for NASA." He brandished a gun. "I made a little stop on my way over here. What it lacks in finesse, it will make up for with sheer lethality. I even called it in – your friends from Homicide should be here any minute."

Henry crossed his arms. "Setting me up for murder again, Adam? Isn't that getting a little old? And where am I supposed to have hidden your body?"

"We can spend eternity killing each other, Henry. Your friends don't have that long." His thin, bloodless lips curved in something approximating a smile. "And we're not quite even yet, you and I."

Luna was running out of time to make a decision. A Stunning spell would wear off too soon to be of much use. Memory modification couldn't change a personality, and Adam was clearly psychopathic. The entire Wizarding world had yet to find a cure for _that_.

Transfiguration it was, then. Only one question remained: animate or inanimate?

"I promised not to harm your son, Henry." Adam aimed his gun at Lucas's sleeping form. "I never said anything about anyone else."

Her time was up.

* * *

_Present day_

"I wish I could have seen you in action," said Lucas wistfully.

"You have seen me in action plenty of times," Luna pointed out. Lucas choked, and she giggled. "I meant performing magic." They looked at each other and convulsed in laughter.

When she could breathe again, Luna smiled at him fondly. "I meant with my wand, you know."

Lucas snickered a moment before bringing himself under control. "I know. And I love watching you do magic."

Luna swallowed. "Is that why you love me?" She didn't really want to ask, but questions had a way of escaping her, like air from a poorly tied balloon.

"What?" Lucas pulled away from her, visibly taken aback. "Are you serious?"

Luna nodded, not trusting her voice.

Lucas stared at her a moment before pulling her into a fierce hug. "I love you because you're Luna Lovegood," he said seriously, his mouth pressed to her ear. "And you would be magic even if you weren't a witch."

For a moment, Luna stopped thinking. A lightness like she had never known blossomed in her heart. "There are fifty-six very good reasons I love you, Lucas Wahl," she whispered, "and I think you're magic, too."

After that, they didn't speak for some time.

They did a few other things instead, which Luna happily added to her list. When they had finished… _enumerating_ … Lucas propped his head up on his elbow and grinned. "I still I wish I could have seen you kicking some immortal ass."

Luna shook her head slowly, an uncommonly somber look on her face. "I have been in battles, you know. They're not as fun as they seem in your films. They're actually quite terrifying."

Lucas swallowed. "Were you ever hurt?"

"Sometimes. My friends were hurt, too. Some of them died. It was quite sad." Luna stared into the distance. "I don't like fighting, but sometimes it's necessary."

"Some things are worth fighting for?"

Luna knew him well enough to recognize that he was quoting someone – probably a character from a film, but there was always the possibility that he was quoting Henry. "Yes," she said simply.

"Thanks for fighting for me," he whispered.

Luna smiled at him tenderly. "Always."

Then she patted his arm. "And besides, you didn't miss much. There was a flash of orange light and a loud bang, and then–"

* * *

_5 months and 28 days earlier_

"A gas pump?" exclaimed Henry, bewildered.

"A self-filling visible gas pump," corrected Luna.

DING! The old-fashioned pump clattered and chugged, and a rush of gasoline splashed into the clear cylinder up to the one gallon mark. "With a functioning circulatory system," she added proudly. "I thought that might work."

"It's a Mae West pump," marveled Abe. "I don't remember ever seeing one of those in use."

"I do," said Henry needlessly. "I saw Mae West once, too. I must say that I do see the resemblance in the silhouette."

Luna examined her handiwork. Gleaming paint, clear glass, shiny decals – it was a rather handsome machine, if she had to say so herself.

"It's really great, Luna," said Abe, scratching his jaw. "But, umm, wouldn't a grandfather clock have done just as well? This doesn't exactly fit in with the rest of my antiques."

"I did think of that," Luna said, "but what if it sold? Accidents do happen. That's how my Great-Great-Great-Great Uncle Morpheus wound up in the Forbidden City. By the time someone disenchanted him, it was the Qing dynasty."

Henry looked at the pump guiltily. "Was your great-great… I mean, how well did he tolerate the experience?"

"Oh, he quite enjoyed it. He went on to become one of the gargoyles at Notre Dame. He's still there. You can ask him yourself if you like," offered Luna, "but he does dislike being wakened from his nap."

Before she could reassure Henry that Adam was essentially unharmed and most likely completely unaware, there was a deafening pounding at the door.

"That must be Homicide," said Luna. "Shall I get it?"

His face still mashed in the potatoes, Lucas slumbered on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Google searches for this story are getting weirder by the chapter. The Forbidden City reference was just the beginning. "Are comets mostly ice?" (Yes. I figure Henry would wind up in the nearest body of water, even if it's frozen. It could just as easily be a subsurface ocean on one of Jupiter's moons, but this sounded more dramatic!) "Does a comet's tail melt near the sun?" (Also yes - every time a comet passes the sun, part of it sublimates.) "How does a visible gas pump work?" (You hand pump the gas up into the cylinder to fill it. Then put the hose in the car and drain the desired amount of gas out of the pump. The pumps were tall, so gravity would help by doing its thing.)
> 
> In other news, there's a lot more to this story than I first thought - so stay tuned for more!


	4. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We take a break from our flashback action for a bit of present-day Lucas and Luna... and we finally get an explanation of the story's title.

"Watch that first step, Mac. It's a lulu!" – Bugs Bunny

 **Lacuna** , n. An empty space or a missing part; a gap.

_Present day_

While Lucas was typing his – his what? He couldn't really call it his memoir, because that would imply that something interesting happened _to_ him instead of _around_ him. Huh. He'd have to think about that. In any case, while Lucas was typing, Luna was writing a letter. Between the two of them, the table and floor were covered with Skittles wrappers, quill snippings, crumpled paper, ink blotches and owl feathers.

The very sight of it made Lucas grin.

They made such a good team, like Lois and Clark. Batman and Batgirl. Ben and Jerry. Peanut butter and jelly. "We need a name," he said.

Luna looked up from her parchment. "Don't you like the one you have?"

Her question threw him off track. "Well, sure. I mean, Lucas isn't so bad. I went by Luke for a while, because of _The_ Luke. You know, Luke-I-am-your-father – although Vader didn't really say 'Luke' in that line, it just became a thing in pop culture. Anyway, there was an… um… unfortunate incident with food poisoning in eighth grade. And puke kinda rhymes with… Anyhow, I switched back to Lucas."

Luna smiled that little half-smile she had. The one that made silly things seem a little more serious, and brought out the funny side of the really heavy stuff. "I quite like Wahl, myself," she said in a soft, dreamy voice. "Walls are solid and dependable. I suppose it comes from living in a castle."

As was his habit, Lucas leaned closer to listen. The first time he'd caught himself doing that, he had apologized for looming. Luna had just laughed. Apparently he had nothing on a former professor of hers. (Honestly, the guy sounded like Dracula reincarnated, only less so, because he was actually dead.)

Lucas found himself smiling again. Luna had that effect on him, but she didn't seem to mind.

"Thanks, Luna. But I meant more of a team name, like Mulder and Scully, or Brangelina, or Mortinez."

Luna's brow furrowed slightly. "Who are they?"

Lucas blushed. "Oh, er, that's what I call Henry and Jo. In my head. You know, Morgan and Martinez… plus, it's got that cool _morte_ linguistic undertone. Since they met doing homicides and all. Not _doing_ homicides – solving them, I mean." He finally stuttered to a halt. He really had to stop doing that.

But Luna only nodded. She was always patient with his run-on thoughts, maybe because she had so many of her own. "Yes, but who are the others?" she asked.

His brain stalled. Luna was somehow even more out of touch with pop culture than Henry was – and the guys at the precinct were still taking bets over whether Henry knew the difference between a hashtag and a selfie.

(Personally, Lucas would have asked him something with a bit more punch, like the difference between X-Men and X-Box. Millennials and the _Millennium Falcon_. The Kardashians and Cardassians. But whatever. )

"I'll show you some Youtube vids later," Lucas promised. "Suffice it to say they're kickass couples who are all awesome. And I just thought that we should have a name too. Because…" He ran a hand through his hair and tried to shrug nonchalantly, but he could never pull off nonchalant when he was nervous. "Because I think we're awesome too."

"So do I." Luna smiled at him. "So how do you make a team name?"

"Usually by taking part of each name and smushing them into one. But so far all I've been able to come up with is Lulu."

"Oh!" Luna sat forward excitedly. "I see! From Lu-cas and Lu-na."

"Yup. Only Lulu isn't such a great name," he said in apology.

Luna shrugged. "My house-mates used to call me Loony Lovegood." She said it in an offhand tone, like one would dismiss yesterday's traffic jam or last week's moldy bread as an unimportant annoyance, but it made Lucas want to wrap her up in his afghan and hug her. Or fly straight to England or Scotland or wherever and hunt down her old schoolmates. He could just imagine all the threats he could make: he knew lots of ways to murder people, and he knew how not to get caught.

Granted, he would never be able to deliver any threat credibly, and he probably wouldn't even mean it. But in his daydreams, the groveling was still gratifying.

Oblivious to his dark thoughts, Luna swiveled on the stool and spun in a little circle. Her mismatched stocking feet (one solid yellow, the other with little marching frogs) swung a good inch above the ground. "What about Casna?"

"Huh?"

"Lu-cas and Lu-na," she reminded him. "Second syllables: Casna."

Lucas scratched his head. "Maybe we could try our last names. Wahlgood? Goodwahl? Lovewa– on second thought, maybe not." His ears burned. Luna politely pretended not to notice. Or maybe she didn't actually notice; it was hard to tell sometimes.

"We could rearrange the letters," Luna suggested. "There was a dark wizard back home who did that to his own name. He was very terrible, but the name was rather silly. And Daddy always said that terrible things lose some of their power when you can laugh at them."

"Like being called Loony?" guessed Lucas.

Luna hummed. "That too."

The moment stretched on. "So," said Lucas, drawing the word out. "I'll get the Scrabble letters."

Luna watched him with interest as he scattered the tiles over the table, nudging a bottle of ink and a can of Coke out of the way. He pulled out their first and last names. There were just barely enough Ls.

"Ooh, I found one!" Luna swiftly rearranged a few surname tiles. " _Hallooed_."

"That's… a really awesome Scrabble word, actually. But maybe not quite what we're looking for."

" _Logwood_? No? _Dewool_? Probably not _gaoled_."

"Probably not."

Her fingers hovered over the tiles, suddenly hesitant. " _Hallowed_ ," she said softly. Their eyes met.

Lucas swallowed. "Maybe our first names?" he said hoarsely after a long moment. _Stupid, stupid!_ He kicked himself, literally – right in the ankle bone.

Luna patted his arm. "Ulnas," she said.

"Huh?" _Stupid_ , he echoed mentally.

"Ulnas," Luna repeated. "It's in our names."

Lucas looked. Sure enough, there it was. Still… "I dunno. Is it really _us_?" Sure, he worked with anatomy, and it was kind of sweet of her to think of it, but–

"We both have them," she pointed out.

Lucas laughed. "True. How about luaus? That's fun, and it's… well, it's something people can do together."

Forget Hawaiian pizza. He could live on that look in her eyes alone.

"Causal," suggested Luna.

"Canals," Lucas countered.

"Callus?"

"I've got one!" cried Lucas. "Canulas! It's medical, deals with exsanguinations – or medications, if you're not into that – oh." His face fell. "But it doesn't say anything about you."

"That's okay," said Luna.

"No, it's not!" Lucas replied vehemently. "It's got to have a bit of both of us," he insisted. Luna stared at him, wide-eyed. "That's the whole point of a team name," he finished in a mumble.

Luna sat for a minute without blinking. Lucas recognized her thinking look and waited with her for the thought to percolate. "Lacunas," she said abruptly.

Lucas wracked his brain. "That's, like, something to do with bone cells, right? Luna, it doesn't have to be medicine. We'll find something else –"

She interrupted him. "It's a space visible between cells that allows free passage of light. A language gap which occurs when there is no direct translation in the target language for a term in the source language." Her gaze darted around his face, willing him to understand. "It's an omission in a manuscript. A silence in music." Her eyes were so wide, and her face so close, that Lucas could practically see his reflection in her pupils.

"A lacuna is a missing piece," Luna continued in a voice so quiet that Lucas had to strain to hear her. "I've always known I had one, you see. Other people noticed it all the time. Some even told Daddy that I had something missing. I thought they meant my mother, because she died." Her voice wavered. "But now I think that empty space, that gap… it was always for you."

He had to say something. She was waiting for him to complete her thought, but everything he could think of fell short beside her extraordinary pronouncement. "We fit," he stammered. "Like two puzzle pieces with squiggly edges and too many notches." He started shaking his head immediately, because the analogy was so unsophisticated, so deficient…

Luna took his face in her hands, curtailing his inner monologue. "We fit," she repeated.

 _We fit_ , thought Lucas in wonderment. "You're my missing piece," he whispered.

Luna smiled, and it was like the moon breaking free of an eclipse – an emptiness made whole.

It was true, Lucas thought, a little dazed. They made a good team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, this is where this fic began. I wrote this piece first, and this is where I fell in love with the idea of Lucas/Luna and decided to write their story. And that story is far from over! 
> 
> More to come, including the long-awaited appearance of Great Aunt Minerva.


End file.
